stomach’s eagerness Is desperate, and is not to be withstood, And many are the mischiefs which it brings Upon the race of men; it fits out fleets That cross the barren deep arrayed for war, And carry death and woe to hostile realms.”
So talked the twain. A dog was lying near, And lifted up his head and pricked his ears. ’Twas Argus, which the much-enduring man Ulysses long before had reared, but left Untried, when for the hallowed town of Troy He sailed. The young men oft had led him forth In eager chase of wild goats, stags, and hares; But now, his master far away, he lay Neglected, just before the stable doors, Amid the droppings of the mules and beeves, Heaped high till carried to the spacious fields Of which Ulysses was the lord. There lay Argus, devoured with vermin. As he saw Ulysses drawing near, he wagged his tail And dropped his ears, but found that he could come No nearer to his master. Seeing this, Ulysses wiped away a tear unmarked By the good swineherd, whom he questioned thus:—
“Eumaeus, this I marvel at—this dog, That lies upon the dunghill, beautiful In form, but whether in the chase as fleet As he is fairly shaped I cannot tell. Worthless, perchance, as house-dogs often are, Whose masters keep them for the sake of show.”
And thus, Eumaeus, thou didst make reply: > “The dog belongs to one who died afar. Had he the power of limb which once he had For feats of hunting when Ulysses sailed For Troy and left him, thou wouldst be amazed Both at his swiftness and his strength. No beast In the thick forest depths which once he saw, Or even tracked by footprints, could escape. And now he is a sufferer, since his lord Has perished far from his own land. No more